


making choices with our innocence

by monarchs



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Facebook basically fails, Feelings that are hard to sort, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Post-Canon, Stuttering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22288720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monarchs/pseuds/monarchs
Summary: 11 years after, Facebook closes its doors. Mark develops a stutter and a crippling lack of confidence, Sean settles down and gets married before everyone else, Eduardo seems to have a lot on his plate, but not enough to replace the hole Mark left in his heart all those years ago.
Relationships: Eduardo Saverin/Mark Zuckerberg
Comments: 32
Kudos: 92





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been busy, but I still love markwardo. I started this last October, but finished it yesterday... it's only about 6k. Will post in 3 parts, no set schedule for the updates.
> 
> This is a response to a [prompt](https://tsnkinks.dreamwidth.org/1679.html?thread=5007#cmt5007) from the 2019 kinkmeme. It's a great prompt... gives the author so much room, and I love it. Would love to thank the anon prompter a lot!
> 
> A Chinese translation by atk3000w can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25812106) or [here](http://mtslash.me/thread-323417-1-1.html)!

In 2003, Mark created Facemash with an algorithm on his window, a beer in his hand, and his most trusted friends by his side. The hits went through the roof before dawn broke, and Harvard University saw its servers obliterated by a website that really shouldn't have been even remotely interesting to the country's top of the crop. 

Almost thirteen years later, silence reigned the Facebook headquarters the way it would a cemetery. It was only eleven AM. The sun wasn't close to waning, but Facebook was. 

Facebook was.

"Can't do anything about it," Sean had said, with vague, meaningless gestures and a shrug. "The boat's sunk, you either drown or swim." After a beat, he added, "Mark, I'm implying you should swim." 

Thiel hadn't been seen in months. But, of course, at the right time and place, he had left a letter about clauses that gave him rights to remaining assets and intellectual property. 

Mark crumbled the paper, but it barely made a sound, barely made a dent in the silence. 

As the saying went: death was easy, dying wasn't.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Dustin left in 2008 to co-found Asana with one of Facebook's most competent leading engineers. Mark had given them his blessing, really, he would do that, for any of his friends, especially anyone looking to further this world. 

But sometimes he wished he hadn't let them go before Facebook had become something bigger. Something more stable. 

Dustin met with Mark the other day in a bar, and they were just drinking beer, like the old days, except, not really. Dustin hadn't changed, not a single hair, but he had looked at Mark as if Mark had, and suddenly Mark was very much aware that things were far different from the times they spent back in that dingy old Kirkland suite.

"You're the second youngest self-made billionaire of your time, Mark. That's an achievement! You've been on covers of prestigious magazines. Not something your run-of-the-mill guy can accomplish," Dustin said, but on seeing Mark's lack of reaction, he quietly added, "it's okay. Things happen. Maybe you should take a break. Have you talked to Eduardo?"

"What good would come of that?" Mark had said.

Dustin nodded, smiled at no one in particular as he studied his coaster. "He wouldn't make fun of you."

Mark knew that. But it didn't mean he was ready to confront his biggest mistake while he was most vulnerable.

But the fact was, he was always going to be vulnerable, when it came to Eduardo.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
2015 onwards: People started blaming the platform for its fake news. Mark had more and more trouble communicating with people. He developed a stutter. It didn't matter whether his audience were strangers or friends or family or a judging stray cat, he would stutter. His voice was straitjacketed, bound tighter and tighter, and time only exacerbated it.

And, when it came to coding, he had a block. Nothing inspired him. His peak had long past, faded away like those memories of algorithms on windows.  
  
  
  
On December 24 the same year, Facebook closed its doors. The last of employees moved on to new jobs and lives. Facebook was now a has been, and Mark was sleepless on his bed, fingers sore from countless recommendation letters written in the past few nights.

The next day, the streets were decorated in garlands and lights and distant cheer, but otherwise seemed desolate to Mark.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
In 2016, Mark was recruited by Trilogy, but mostly as a trophy, to be placed on a top shelf and collect dust.

He hated it, but he hated doing nothing, so there he was. 

In 2017, while typing on a computer, debugging a program that was clumsily coded, Sean sent him a formal invitation to his wedding, via e-mail. Mark hadn't expected one this soon. Hadn't expected any coming from Sean, to be frank.

It was perhaps a sign that things were changing. That things could change.

The e-mail opened with a burst of confetti colours, and Mark closed the tab immediately, groaning and massaging his temples.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Sean's wedding was in two months, right before an entrepreneurial speech Mark was to do, at Stanford.  
  
  
  
"Hey, I'm real glad you came," Sean said, looking sheepish in his pressed not-Prada suit. "I was thinking you might not."

"Yeah, me too," Mark said, trying to feel comfortable in his suit, but failing.

Sean smiled sympathetically, the way he might have had, a long time ago, when things were all his fault, when things were easier to blame on him, but when things were also really not, not entirely at least, on him because Mark's hands were just as red too.

"Congratulations," Mark said, when Amelia joined them, glowing in white, greeting Mark with a gentle look. The kind of look people gave him, now that he was, essentially, a nobody.

"From experience, I'd keep him on a leash," Mark murmured, but it didn't sound as light-hearted as he wanted it to be. "Is Dustin here?"

Sean pointed in a vague direction, and Mark, not giving a fuck about who was or who wasn't there, walked into the crowd, expecting to get himself a drink, and observe from the margins.

He didn't expect to find someone else standing at the edge of the party already, a drink in hand, looking nervous, as if he too wanted, more than anything else, to escape the place.

And Mark was thrown back, back in time, like he had just walked through a time portal under the wedding banner, to when he'd first met _him_ , at an AEPi party. 

In the dim lighting of the far-off memory, under a panorama of irrelevant sceneries, and a broken disco ball, Mark had said, "I'm really just here for the free beer."

And the tall guy, with crazy hair, big eyes, a gentle smile, had said, "a sound idea."

And Mark had said, "yeah, I know."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Here for the free drinks?" Eduardo said, when he saw Mark. He held up his own glass, as if to make his point.

Mark looked away. "A sound idea," he wanted to say, nostalgic, feeling a little woozy already, even though he'd only had the one glass. But instead, he said, "you're not mad at me." 

Because Eduardo didn't sound angry. 

Eduardo gave him a wary look for a few seconds before leaning in. Mark flinched minutely.

Eduardo had felt it. 

"It's been fifteen years, Mark," he murmured. "Not everybody wants to stay mad at you for eternity."

"G-generous of you." Mark was unable to help the stutter. 

Eduardo eyed him, gave him a sad smile. They stood there for a while. The sky went from cyan to orange to navy, and the music from cheerful to gentle, softly fading into the night. And Eduardo had been there, quiet, understanding.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It was back at the hotel that Mark really felt the brunt of it. Of it all. 

Standing in the shower, his forehead against the cold tiled wall, he shuddered once, twice, before giving in, sliding to the floor, crying.

For the first time in a long, long time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this in our year of 2020.

Mark walked around the outskirts of Stanford. He was in a grey basic hoodie, with his earphones plugged in, reciting his lines at 6 in the morning when the mist was still dense. 

It didn't help. He could hear himself stutter more than he could feel it in his jaw.

At 9AM he poured himself a bowl of cereal at the continental breakfast buffet downstairs, and went back to his room, back to his computer.

At 12PM, he skipped lunch. He took a nap but ended up having unsettling nightmares about losing his voice in front of a crowd of people, old memories playing on powerpoint slides behind him.

The next generation of kids wouldn't even know what Facebook was, the way these students probably didn't know what Livejournal and MySpace and Friendster were.

"Two syllables, stick to two syllables. Apple, Windows, Ketchup, Cleanex, Facebook. They stick better."

"That was his greatest contribution."

"Drop the _the_. It's cleaner."

Drop the _the_ , drop the superfluous.

A sticky note on a computer monitor read: _I'm not excessive baggage, Mark._

"You had one friend."

Mark woke up in the dimming sunlight of 5PM, drenched in cold sweat, the image of Eduardo waiting alone at SFO under heavy torrential rain vivid in his mind.

At 10PM, he gave in. After a few brief calls, and a few mild threats, he had Eduardo's number on a hotel notepad. 

At 11:56PM, he dialled the number, sat at the edge of his King-size hotel bed, staring out the window.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
"Who is it? It's midnight for Christ's sake," said a woman's voice in the background.

"I don't kno-- Hello?"

Eduardo sounded a little flustered.

Mark closed his eyes. A long second passed by. And then he said, "hi."

Mark could hear Eduardo hold his breath, and release it. "Mark?"

Mark nodded, even though Eduardo couldn't possibly see him nod.

"Mark, you can't..." Eduardo paused. "Hold on," he added, but Mark wasn't sure if it was directed at him, or the woman in the background.

After some shuffling, and a door closing, Eduardo said, "how did you get this number?"

"I made a few calls," Mark replied. 

"Right," Eduardo said, and Mark could almost hear him rub his temple. And then, Eduardo said, more tired than annoyed: "it's almost midnight."

"Ward-- can I call you Wardo?"

Eduardo hesitated for a moment. The long pause made Mark realize there was no way Eduardo could say yes.

"No one calls me that anymore," Eduardo said.

Mark looked down at the notepad with Eduardo's number. Wardo was written next to it. Mark decided he could forgo the nickname. "I have a s-speech in three days. At Stanford. Do you know their ETL series?"

Eduardo sighed. "It rings a bell," he admitted, and then added, "congratulations."

"It's n-not--" Mark paused, swallowing. "It's not the Nobel prize."

(That wasn't the reason he called at all. He didn't-- he didn't want to hear Eduardo tell him congratulations over a speech series that was meant to encourage undergrads who were probably too naive for their own good. 

The way he had once been.)

Eduardo exhaled. "I'm not sure what you want me to say."

Mark closed his eyes. "Where are you?" 

(They were in the same timezone, Mark thought belatedly as he stared at his clock.)

There was a pause before Eduardo answered. "I'm flying tomorrow."

"That's not what I aske--" Mark stopped himself. He was feeling worked up, and he wasn't sure why. "Okay. Well. Have a safe flight back--"

Mark was about to hang up, but Eduardo said, "Mark."

Mark waited a beat. "Yeah?"

Eduardo sighed. "It was nice seeing you yesterday. Honestly. But I can't-- I can't do this."

Mark bit his lower lip. "Yeah. Okay."

They exchanged goodbyes briefly. Mark waited until Eduardo hung up first before hanging up. The digital clock on the night stand was a minute faster into the next day, and Mark lay down, staring at it.

Two more days, he thought.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Mark took a shower first thing in the morning, his bare feet colder than the tile floor underneath him. The hot water tap was a little loose, the way the tap of the shower back in Kirkland was too. 

That was a long time ago. He had to remind himself of it, almost every hour of the day. 

Between then and now, Mark had made friends (really? him? friends?) with other people, from the other side of the glass. Champagne and loud music and fancy architecture and Victoria Secret models hiding under strobe lights. He left behind the friends who stuck by his side after a breakup at Thirsty Scholars, a scolding from the Ad Board. Left them behind for people whose dreams might be bigger but whose ego were so big you couldn't see it up close the way you couldn't see the sea up close or a mountain.

But it didn't mean anything to blame his 'entourage'. Sean probably did burn down the house with coke on his hands only hours after the sorry my Prada's at the cleaners episode, but Sean didn't hold a gun to Mark's temple and order him to squeeze Eduardo out. And though Thiel thought of no one but himself, Mark hadn't said no when Thiel proposed to dilute Eduardo's shares. And the others? Well.

There were no others, were there?

(It wasn't the same, without Dustin, Chris. Eduardo. Wardo.)

Mark turned off the water, droplets rolling off his fingers.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
What was he even supposed to say at this speech?  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Mark slipped into a bathrobe, his flip-flops, and an elevator, to head downstairs and grab a granola bar or something to settle his stomach.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
His stomach flipped when he saw Eduardo sitting in the lobby. 

He was in a suit, as always, but instead of gelled hair, his hair was down, soft-looking. He was busy typing on his laptop, which he'd placed on top of his carry-on suitcase, and talking into his phone, which was pinched between his cheek and shoulder.

He hadn't noticed Mark yet. Mark wasn't sure if he should walk over, or hide behind the potted tropical tree thing next to the information counter.

The dilemma was lifted when Eduardo looked up and made eye contact with Mark. Eduardo, who looked tired, gave Mark's outfit a sort of brief look and incredulous smile, before talking into his phone again. Mark shifted on his feet, thinking, in an uncharacteristically flustered way, that he should have probably worn something less conspicuous than a fancy golden-rimmed five-star hotel bathrobe that didn't match his red pyjamas. 

"Mark!" Eduardo beckoned, after hanging up.

Mark looked around, as if his name wasn't that syllable Eduardo had just uttered across an empty lobby, but then after a beat, he waved sheepishly and then shuffled to Eduardo, who just slipped his laptop into his bag.

"You stay here?" Mark asked, and then, eyes settling on Eduardo's suitcase, he added, "you're flying today."

"Change of plans. I'm staying a few days more," Eduardo said, casual. "I tried checking in, but they don't have any rooms before 12 tomorrow."

"Why are you here--"

"It's a long way to Singapore. Thought I might as well move up some meetings before I leave," Eduardo said, putting away his phone into an inside pocket. "Also, I guess I've been invited to a speech at Stanford, two days from now."

Mark widened his eyes. "Invited?"

Eduardo frowned, scratching the back of his neck. "Was that not an invitation, last night?"

Mark shook his head. "No."

"No?" Eduardo looked a little surprised.

Mark bit his bottom lip. "How did you know I was staying here?"

Eduardo shrugged. "I made a few calls," he said vaguely. Then, frowning, he asked, "why did you call me then?"

Mark licked his lips. If he noticed Eduardo staring, he didn't say anything, nor let himself think too much about it. "Who was the woman you were with?" he asked, feigning nonchalance.

Eduardo narrowed his eyes. "A friend," he said, simply.

Mark nodded, lowering his gaze. "The speech. It's n-nothing."

Eduardo softened his expression. It was clear he knew as much as Mark knew that Mark was ignoring the elephant in the room. "Have you eaten?"

Mark shook his head before he could stop himself. Feeling mildly embarrassed, he glanced at the dining area, and then said, "was going to grab something."

Eduardo nodded. "I saw a brunch place down the road that doesn't look half shabby."

Mark wasn't sure what to say. There was a high-end brunch place down the road. Only Eduardo would casually call it "not half shabby".

Eduardo sighed. "Go change, Mark," he said finally, looking like he was already regretting this. "And bring your speech script."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned. I'm thinking this might take 4 chapters total instead so I've changed the number.
> 
> All comments will be loved!!!!!!! I cuddle them to sleep, I swear.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I had this written out but wasn't motivated to update, for many reasons, some evident, some less.
> 
> Instead of dividing the rest into two more chapters, I've decided to just post the rest in one go, so this is now complete. Thanks for reading!

Eduardo ordered brunch for four people. When Mark was about to protest, Eduardo looked at him so patiently Mark thought it was best not to test him. They ate, mostly quietly, and then finished, and Eduardo held out his hand, and Mark gave him his draft. Mark had written it on the flight over to SFO, so it was kind of wrinkly and scribbly.

Eduardo frowned at Mark's handwriting, the way he always did, back at Harvard. Mark wanted so badly to grab the paper back, but then Eduardo read the draft aloud, making every sentence sound like a question: "I didn't create Facebook as a social network? I didn't start it off because of some delusional pipe dream or grand idea or what have you? I started it because I was drunk, angry and stupid? If you have big dreams, I'd advise you to become a plumber instead? Or some other modest and humbling career?" Eduardo then mouthed a very confused and voiceless "what?"

Mark's 'r's and 's's were basically illegible, but Eduardo didn't seem to have any problems reading his handwriting. Even after more than a decade later, Eduardo read it like it was print in Times New Roman, 12 point with 1-inch margins. Mark shrugged, not seeing any problems with the lines Eduardo had recited. 

"What, is it too wordy?" Mark asked, for the sake of asking something.

Eduardo narrowed his eyes. "Is this about..." he rubbed at his temple, clearly trying to recall something. "What's her name? Erin? Erica?"

"No," Mark said, without missing a beat, because really it wasn't. And then because it irritated him, he added: "Erica."

Eduardo gave him a look of disbelief. "All right," he gave the draft another quick look, "then the only other explanation is that you're wallowing in self-deprecation because you can't move on from this slump you've decided to nest in."

Mark opened his mouth, but then closed it. After a second, he said, "Albert Einstein once said he'd rather be a plumber if he were given the chance to restart life."

Eduardo gave Mark a soft and patient look again that Mark didn't know at all how to interpret. "I don't think people will get that."

Mark shrugged. "I don't see why that's my problem."

"Mark."

Mark licked his lips. "You don't like my speech."

Eduardo sat back and then exhaled slowly. "It's not very likeable."

"Well, you don't need to be there. In fact, you won't be there."

"I never said that."

Mark squirmed in his seat. "You probably get off on my f-failure, don't you?" 

"Mark," Eduardo pleaded.

"Sorry," Mark murmured, looking at his lap. 

Eduardo looked like he hadn't expected it. With a hand at his forehead, he sighed again. "Here, let's just. Start over. From the top."

Mark nodded. "Okay."

Eduardo looked at him softly again. "Why did you start Facebook?"

Mark frowned.

Eduardo looked down at the table for a second, before looking back up. "Why did you start theFacebook?"  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Eduardo had to meet a few clients in San Francisco at one in the afternoon; he told Mark about it on the way to the brunch place. But it was 12:45PM, and Eduardo made no sign of leaving. It was at least a 35 minute drive from Palo Alto to San Francisco; Mark knew it like the back of his hand. He used to drive this route every day. Why wasn't Eduardo leaving?

Mark didn't dare ask.

"When did it start?" Eduardo asked.

Mark shrugged. "I'm not sure."

"If you don't want to talk about it, it's fine."

"Before Trilogy. Before Facebook got shut down," Mark divulged reluctantly. "It's 12:46."

"I know," Eduardo replied easily, without even glancing at his phone. "Did you want me to leave?" he asked, just as easily.

Mark found himself shaking his head lightly.

"I'll leave at 1. It's fine," Eduardo said.

Mark looked at his napkin, which had notes and corrections on it in Eduardo's handwriting. It was cursive and elegant and legible and looked like it belonged either to a well-cited scholar or a mafia boss. "Why are you doing this?" Mark asked.

Eduardo looked at Mark meaningfully. "Don't question the witness."

"Where are you staying tonight?" Mark asked.

"Probably at San Fran," Eduardo said, blinking.

Mark swallowed hard. "You can stay at my s-suite. I have a couch."

Eduardo raised an eyebrow, but only a little. He blinked several times again, before saying, "a couch?"

"I'd take the couch," Mark quickly amended. 

Eduardo scoffed. "There are other hotels around here."

"Other hotels don't have Mark Zuckerbergs," Mark countered.

Eduardo smiled, throwing his head back, as if to resist a full-hearted bark of laughter. "That's a peculiar amenity," he said, finally, carefully. "What does it do?"

Mark bit his lower lip, then shrugged. "Just take it or leave it."

"You'd take the couch? For me?" Eduardo asked.

"I don't know how else to humiliate myself further, for you."

"You sure know how to flirt," Eduardo said flatly. He waved at a waiter for a bill, then, turning back to Mark, he said, "I'll see. Give me your phone."

Mark had forgotten his phone, but somehow Eduardo knew about it before Mark could inform him. He handed Mark his phone instead. It was a new iPhone, which felt odd, since Mark always associated Eduardo with Blackberries, the way Mark always associated Eduardo with sun and warmth and smiles at the end of long days.

He input his new personal e-mail (since Eduardo only had the outdated Facebook one), and then his latest phone number. 

They walked around the corner, and there was a black BMW car waiting for Eduardo.

"Take a break for the rest of the day, Mark," Eduardo said, snatching Mark's draft from his hand. And with that, Eduardo left.

Mark stood around for a while, waited for the car to disappear into the horizon before leaving.

A beat later, instead of heading back to the hotel, he decided to head somewhere else.

(Somewhere he hadn't been in years.)  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
The house looked different somehow. The chimney had definitely been renovated, the roof tiles repainted, and the driveway was now paved. It looked different - it _was_ different - but Mark could still see shadows of that night in its windowpanes. Like it had all just happened yesterday. The rain, Sean and Eduardo at odds with each other, Mark telling Eduardo about the Wall, the yellow lights in the dim hallway.

On his way back to the hotel, following the setting sun and its gradient dusk skies, he wondered about things. 

Like how different it would have been if he hadn't had the falling out with Eduardo. Like how different it would have been if he had known back then that he had fallen for Eduardo instead. 

Maybe Facebook would have never made it big. Maybe Mark would have never become a billionaire - but then Mark never did want to. It had never been the purpose. He could have been a happy man even within the confines of an old studio, shared with two other boys, shared with his best friends.

He was the type who only wanted to code and expand and make more and more people content, connect the stars in the sky, dots in a vast universe, the mundane to magic. He liked that feeling when long lost friends found each other, their voices still familiar, their personalities and leopard spots unchanged, their smiles only more vibrant than ever before. His aunt had found a primary school friend, the one who sat next to her in class; his sister's best friend one of her childhood playmates. He had turned the impossible into something easy, tangible, meant to be.

Who cared about money? He still wore the same hoodies, and the North Face jacket Eduardo had left behind. He didn't even need to buy Mount Auburn street and turn the Phoenix into his ping pong room. He didn't even play ping pong. 

He only needed a car that got him from point A to point B. Only needed a watch that told time and nothing else.

But he was the one who led Eduardo to the trap. He was the one who allowed his best friend's shares to fall down to 0.03, now a most ominous number to him, and it didn't matter whether Mark had mistakenly trusted Eduardo to read the contracts because at the end of the day, Eduardo had trusted Mark, and Mark had failed him.

It was 9:37 PM when Eduardo called Mark. He somehow hadn't expected it. He had spent the whole afternoon listing reasons why Eduardo really shouldn't be even close to forgiving or calling him.

"Hey," Eduardo said. He sounded very much like someone calling at the end of a long day, calling to hear his significant other's voice so he could sleep better, or something, and that unsettled Mark.

"Hello," Mark replied, his heart in his throat.

"You'll take the couch?" Eduardo said.

Mark glanced up at his couch, feelings bunched up in his chest. "Yeah."

"I'm in the lobby."

Mark bit his lower lip. "I'm in my room."

A pause. A long pause. "You have to come down to let me up, genius."

Mark smiled briefly, to no one. "Right. Yes. Of course." He grabbed his key card and walked out, the door closing heavily behind him.  
  
  


  
  
  
"So, what did you do today?" Eduardo asked when they walked back into Mark's room. Eduardo put down his bag on his luggage, which he tucked against a wall.

"Nothing," Mark lied, willing away the outdated images of the Palo Alto house from his mind.

Eduardo gave him a soft look as he loosened his tie. "Not even code?"

"No," Mark said. He hadn't coded anything in a while, in fact. At Trilogy, all he did was debug and clean, rather than code.

Eduardo frowned. "Have you not been coding?"

"Not technically," Mark answered, shortly.

"Since Facebook?"

Right on the nail. 

"Do you want something to drink?" Mark offered.

Eduardo pressed his lips into a straight line before sighing. "Water. No ice."

Mark poured water from an overpriced Evian bottle.

"Have you ever thought about coding something else--" Eduardo started.

Mark stopped pouring. "No."

"But you used to--"

"F-Face-- Facebook was everything," Mark said. Uneasily. Heavily. He bit the inside of his cheek, looked up at the mirror wall in front of him before turning away and shoving the glass of water at Eduardo.

Eduardo was looking at him with a soft expression again that Mark didn't want to look at. He kept his gaze low, following the floral patterns on the carpeted floor.

"Look, I'm sure Napster was everything to Sean too. But now he's got Spotify or something. He got over it. He's moved on."

Mark glared hard at Eduardo's leather shoes. "Did you get over me?" he asked.

Eduardo didn't respond for a long moment. "You weren't my everything, Mark," he said, finally.

It hurt more said out loud than it did presumed in Mark's mind. Mark looked at his own feet now and resisted the wave of inexplicable pain that washed him down.

They stayed quiet for a while, and Mark even thought, when Eduardo made a move, that Eduardo was going to leave.

But instead, Eduardo said, voice soft and gentle and hurt: 

"But you were hard to get over."  
  
  


  
  
  
Mark curled into himself, pulling the blanket tighter around him. It was past midnight. Eduardo was sleeping, his breathing patterns like the sound of graphite across paper. 

They hadn't talked much after that. Mark repeated his new speech draft twice with Eduardo sat close by, a steadying and almost grounding presence, and then Eduardo called it a night, saying it was better. Mark had stuttered angrily all over the place, lost his voice in other places, but it was better.

_It was better._

Relativity could only comfort so much.

But maybe tomorrow, if Eduardo was still around, things would really be better. And maybe, if Eduardo was going to keep his word about coming to the speech, things would really be okay.

Mark slipped into sleep thinking if, at the end of the day, Eduardo had been his everything, instead of Facebook.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Mark woke up with sun on his face. He sat up slowly, rubbing an eye with a knuckle. It read 11:03AM on the clock. He frowned hard, practically affronted.

"Yeah, I thought you were dead too."

Mark turned his frown at Eduardo who stood at the doorway of the bathroom, a towel around his waist. He had just taken a shower.

"Is sleeping eight hours a norm for you now? I kind of like it, you're easier to deal with," Eduardo added, dismissing Mark's scowl with practiced ease.

Mark had not slept this well in years. 

"While you were catching up on decades worth of slumber, I went down and found these brochures. I think we should do this. Do you have a free day?"

Mark had a meeting in the afternoon with Steve.

"Cancel it," Eduardo said, before Mark could say anything.

"Okay," Mark replied, almost too easily.

And then Eduardo smiled. A smile that could stop the world.  
  
  


  
  
  
They were walking along a road, and the sun was nearly gone. 

It shouldn't be this easy. 

They spent the last hours of the afternoon at the beach, waves washing over sand, seagulls in the distance, wind over water. 

They tried out the things listed in the brochure, spent coins in arcade games, two hours watching a musical movie about purple skies and yellow dresses and people choosing between art and love, spent time sat on a bench in a park, shooting the breeze like they were good friends with the world ahead of them.

If they bickered it ended quick, if they reached a stalemate they stepped back, gave each other space. 

All the space they needed. 

If at the theatre Eduardo said, "use your left arm-rest asshole," then Mark would comply and feel his heart skip a beat because Eduardo said asshole like a term of endearment. If Eduardo put only a finger's width distance between them when they walked side by side, Mark learned to enjoy the almost-proximity. Learned to listen to Eduardo. 

"You can talk about Kirkland."

"People don't want to know about--"

"Tell them how Billy learned Perl in a weekend, all for nothing because thefacebook doesn't work on Perl."

Mark smiled softly. "Okay."

"Okay?" Eduardo looked at Mark.

"Yeah," Mark said.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
"It's tomorrow," Mark said, staring at the dirty sidewalk floor. They were waiting for the bus ride back. 

Multimillionaires in flip-flops waiting for the local bus - it was a quaint concept.

Eduardo looked out at the horizon before turning back and saying, "it's only a matter of time."

"I'm not going to talk about you," Mark said, without context, looking up at Eduardo.

"That's fine. I'm sure I won't be missed." Eduardo shrugged.

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?"

"I-I. You're not Facebook."

Eduardo threw his head back. "I should hope not."

"You're more," Mark said, lowering his gaze back at the floor. He could feel Eduardo's eyes on him.

Eduardo didn't say anything, but then it started drizzling, and before Mark could really figure it out, Eduardo was in his space, and he was grabbing Mark by the elbows and then waist, and then just as suddenly as the rain, his lips pressed against Mark's, and their sighs mingled, their thoughts far, _far_ back behind them.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
"I can't do this. Shit, I can't--" Eduardo pulled back, breathing hard.

They were back at the hotel and had half of their clothes on the floor. More than half.

Mark backed away too, as if electrocuted.

Eduardo closed his eyes, squeezing them so tight it looked like he was in pain.

"Sorry," Mark murmured. He took another step back.

Eduardo opened his eyes and looked at Mark, frowning. "You can't say that now."

"Okay," Mark said.

Eduardo shook his head. "It's too easy."

Mark understood that it was. "I-I know."

Eduardo walked past Mark and sat down at the couch. He rested his head in his hands.

"You were right," Eduardo said.

Mark shrank a little. He hadn't been told that in years. Much of his confidence was gone. He didn't know what Eduardo meant and couldn't bring himself to think, to hope.

"You were right. You are my everything," Eduardo said, then, exasperated, he added, "I can't believe it."

Mark didn't know what to say. He only sat down about a foot away from Eduardo, and they stayed quiet, lost in their own thoughts.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Mark heard Eduardo get out of bed. 

Mark stayed still and breathed evenly. When Eduardo left with the door clicking close behind him, Mark looked at the clock.

It was 4AM. There was barely any light in the room.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Mark was going to stutter. That was a fact. 

Mark would climb onto the low stage. He would forget to greet the audience of students, aspiring entrepreneurs ready for the adventure of their lives, even forget the host. He would shade his face with a shaking hand from the spotlights, hold his breath and count to thirty. Infinity.

Mark built Facebook from scratch with his bare hands, but he also brought it down, brick by brick, until there was nothing left, until it was like nothing had ever stood there before.

He would go along with his original speech because he would have forgotten what he and Eduardo amended because all he would and could remember was the sound of Eduardo leaving before the break of dawn.

Someone was going to whisper that he was a fraud. Someone was going to ask him how he failed. Someone would ask him about the depositions. Someone would ask him about the twins. About Saverin. About Eduardo. About choices. Career versus best friend.

He would respond that he was not in a position to give legal advice. He would respond with a stutter, kill the little of what was left of the dry sense of humour he always used to have.

He didn't feel like he belonged to himself anymore. He didn't feel like the same hands could ever build what they had built, what they had destroyed.

He would probably remember how it felt when Eduardo's lips were pressed against his, but as time passed he would be scared to forget it and after more time passed he would realize that not only would he forget how it felt - he would miss it tenfold more.

Because he already did. And that was a fact he was going to live with too, just like his stutter.

Maybe this was as it was always meant to be, and maybe he would finally understand that and let things go, let things be.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
If Mark had told Eduardo he wanted to try again, that he could wait even if it meant Eduardo could never get over the 0.03, that Eduardo was his everything too, would Eduardo have left?  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Perhaps he would remember to talk about Billy and Perl for dummies. Perhaps he would remember to tell them, those eager students with their futures still luminous in front of them, what it felt to have close friends, a family in one place, an arm's length away.

Perhaps that was how thefacebook started. Not because of Erica, but because of Dustin, Chris, Billy, Andrew, Eduardo. Because of Eduardo.

(And he would tell them, because he didn't know how else theFacebook started.)  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Ten minutes in, he saw him in the shadows, against the wall near the double-door entrance, all the way back up, behind the faceless crowd. He was attentive, focused, eyes on Mark, a solemn expression.

Something flipped in Mark's chest. His head felt lighter.

He stuttered still but:

He mentioned Eduardo. He said, told them, he was his best friend. 

Told everyone that one time Eduardo got into the Crimson because of a chicken. Told them Eduardo wrote an algorithm on his a-hundred-year-old window. Told them he missed the way Eduardo wrote his E's. Told them about Eduardo saying how the site looked good. How it looked really good.

Told them to start something from those kinds of feelings. Those types of bonds, those words of encouragement. 

Told them to remember: there are dreamers out there with the same dreams as you. 

You realize they're not just your dreams anymore. That's why you want to share them.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
The speech ended in reverberating applause. 

Mark hadn't ended up using his original script.

He looked down and nodded at the host, and before leaving, walked briskly up the aisle with intent, the way he did for an idea, inspiration, thefacebook and its relationship status, joined Eduardo who was waiting for him, because fuck, he was waiting for him, with a smile so soft Mark knew that it could only mean one thing, and Mark wasn't going to let this chance slip by, he wasn't going to let go.

They had things they needed to work out, things they needed to confess.

But he wasn't letting go. Not this time.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
"Here for the free wine and cheese?" Mark said when he got to Eduardo.

"For the speech and the speaker," Eduardo corrected gently, smiling still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading markwardo in 2020!
> 
> I'll be trying to write a bit more? I've been busy, but we'll see.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I love comments... I love to know your thoughts, even if it's just half a word. Or a third. 
> 
> To a new year guys! #reviveTSN2020
> 
> Title from Matt Maltese's Less and Less


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